Damsel in Distress? Really?

Men are all alike. Honestly? Sometimes I am very grateful for that little fact. Maybe I should qualify that by saying “mature adult men,” since I DO know many whose age qualifies them for manhood who have no concept of the title. At any rate, I reiterate (hey, that rhymes. Hm): men are all alike. They can’t stand to see a woman do something they feel is in their territory.

I’m a bit of a tomboy – it comes from being 40 and having nobody around to do the ordinary stuff men usually do in a household. I take pride in being able to fix plumbing, work on the truck, and do a little construction and electrical stuff. This afternoon I was determined to change the oil in my truck. I just don’t trust those oil change places; they keep trying to sell me stuff I don’t need at prices I can’t afford, and I got SICK of it, I tell you. I once paid $50 for a set of cabin air filters because I knew I couldn’t find them in stores. I tried. Then, of course, the very next day, there was a set for under $25. I was sick over that, and decided that I would soon be doing the oil changes myself. For a while, it seemed prudent to just let somebody else do it, since a full-time job and a lazy arse made for very little getting done outside of work and sleep. But there came a point where I bit the bullet and bought supplies. Today was the day.

I put the truck up on ramps so I could get under it and left it to cool off for a bit. When I went back out. I had no more stepped up to the engine when my neighbor across the street hollered at me. “HEY!!! WHATCHA DOIN’?!?” “Changin’ the oil!” “DO YOU KNOW HOW TO DO THAT?” “Um, yeah, I think so…” “OK, WELL, IF YOU HAVE ANY TROUBLE I’LL COME OVER AND HELP.” “Ok, thanks!” I crawled under and got my hands on the wrench and heard footsteps. “Ya got a wrench?” “Yep.” “Ya got a filter wrench?” “Got two.” “Well, then, you’re all set.” He stood there for a minute, making suggestions, then he said, “Let me get under there – I’ll do it for you.” I let him. Mama didn’t raise no fool. The whole time he was under there, he was telling me what he was doing, how to tighten the filter, to make sure I oiled the gasket on it before I put it on. I didn’t have the heart to tell him I learned at the feet of a man who changes the oil in all 5 vehicles his family owns, a man who also couldn’t just let me do it for myself. Both of them took great joy in doing that small thing for me. I’m kinda flattered.

I was looking forward to doing this for myself, but I guess there’s always next time! I can be content fixing toilets for now.

The day, part two. I am slightly, SLIGHTLY psychic. Not enough to do any good, just enough to be irritated by it. A few days ago, I dreamed I was Anna Nicole Smith’s protege’, and she was lucid, intelligent, and even kind to me. She was giving me fashion tips, which made Cyndi cringe and beg me never to sleep again. Cyndi’s promise to stay up with me for the rest of my life only lasted about 20 minutes, so that was out. In the dream, ANS was kinda sad, and talking a bit about what to do if anything happened to her. Odd, huh? Then yesterday I was alone at the church, and my hyperactive nostrils caught a whiff of a pungent perfume. I’d been alone in that room all afternoon, and there was no source for the scent, so I spoke to it. No response, although I almost sorta kinda expected to see the reflection of an old woman in a window when I drove away.

My nose has a history, see. It’s well-known among my friends and such that I can’t tolerate very much when it comes to colonge. They say a baby can taste a teaspoon of salt in a swimming pool, and my nose is kinda like that. I can smell somebody’s scented lotion across the sanctuary, and can identify who’s wearing something that makes me sick from across the room. When my mother was bedridden and dying, I was two rooms away from her when I smelled her love’s after shave. He had been dead two years by that time. I knew he was with her, and when I went in her room, the smell was overwhelming. The return air vent in there was spreading it though the house. Then, as soon as it came, it disappeared. I smell her cigarettes inside every now and then. I just wish I could communicate with those who drop in…I have LOTS of questions.